LIGHTNOVELONLINE 14) The Estate
Bursting out from the alleyway directly across the street from the Estate, they saw as the modestly well-decorated building stood proudly above the rest of the city, taking up a whole streetside for itself.
Keen to not waste whatever time they had left, the two siblings dashed across the street, Pallas having to pull Soleiman along so he wouldn’t lag behind.
Once they were at the gates of the Estate, they hurriedly clanged the ceramics of their handguards against the gates’ irons, desperate to draw the attention of the sole gardener going about her work.
The poor old lady, her face stuck in a state of offended bewilderment at the sudden rude interruption of her serene work, slowly made her way to the gate as the siblings hurriedly unbuckled their faceguards.
“Excuse me?” she said, still hobbling over to them.
“Madame, we are deeply sorry, but we’re in a hell of a rush at the moment,” Soleiman said, his words brief and hurried as he forced them through in between laboured breaths. “Please, could you let us in?”
She approached them at a snail’s pace, step by step, much to the chagrin of the siblings. Who knew all too well that the Hashashiyyin too were closing in on the Estate. Step by step.
Drawing out the Thosmodene crest the Duke had given them yesterday, Pallas presented the item to the lady even as she was still hobbling towards them.
“Will this do?” Pallas asked, putting on a polite voice to appease the uncomfortably impartial gardener.
Cautiously, she eyed the little silken family crest up and down, her eyes shifting from the colours of the cloth to the way the streaks of metal interlaced with one another. And finally, after a few seconds of tantalising anxiety, she pulled the rod that held the gate shut out of its place, stepping back to let Pallas swing the gates wide open in her urgency.
“Very well,” she said. “The Mistress’ office is just left past the entrance, and make sure you knock before entering.”
“Thank you, Madame.”
Pallas and Soleiman squeezed their way through the small opening in the gates they’d made, Pallas turning to quietly slam the gates shut behind her while Soleiman moved on past the old lady towards the entrance.
“Oh, Madame, one more thing,” Soleiman added, raising his eyebrows momentarily at Pallas, lowering them just before the gardener turned to face him.
“Yes?”
“If the Hashashiyyin come asking if anyone’s been here, don’t tell them about us.”
The old lady stood speechless for a moment, her mouth left slightly agape and her eyes narrowed to a squint as though the perplexity of the situation had short-circuited her brain. Eventually, she shook her head, rolling her eyes slightly as she sighed in acknowledgement.
“Thank you!” Soleiman said, now joined by Pallas as she examined the gates’ hinges for the final time. Together, they approached the doors to the building before them. Though a drop in the pan when compared to the Town Hall of Porthopolis, its relative opulence and ornate decorations made it look like a diamond in the rough. Especially when right across the street the houses still looked as though they’d been half-abandoned and left to wither away at the hands of the winds and the rain.
They pushed the doors open together, the surprisingly cool air of the indoors spilling out across their legs, even slipping through the gaps in their armour and through the sweat-soaked cloth of the Thosmodene attire in some places. Carefully, they entered the mansion and quickly closed the doors behind them, letting the room instead be illuminated by the skylight that shone through the ceiling and reflected off the beige whites of the walls.
The two of them took off their boots before they stepped onto the dark oak of the floor, leaving the mud and the grime contained within a small recess in the floor lined by stone that surrounded the doorway to the outside.
Looking around, the indoors appeared rather homely. The natural lighting paired with the soft hues of the walls made for a calming neutral atmosphere, the appearance of cleanliness and purity providing a welcome reprieve from the ruggedness of the streets. In between the few doors on both sides of the hallway there were little tables topped with petite clay pots, each vessel housing a plant no larger than a metre that helped to break up the whiteness and provide a splash of verdant luxury to the interior.
Aside from spending a few seconds admiring the pleasantness of the decor, the two siblings wasted no other time getting to the door immediately to their left. Though they did take the liberty to slide their way across the smooth wooden floor with their socks.
Briskly, Soleiman rapped his knuckles against the sturdy wood of the door, stepping back to await a response.
…
There was an interesting painting hung just above the potted plant to the right of the office’s door, depicting what appeared to be a mountain of gold, surrounded by trees embellished with radiant yellow leaves. And on top of it all, a singular flag that flew the Thosmodene family crest, fluttering in the wind.
But there was no response.
Soleiman knocked again on the door, this time more slowly.
…
They could even hear the sound of leaves rustling against each other and the ground as the gardener got back to sweeping the leaves away from the Estate’s entrance.
But there was still no response.
Soleiman clicked the door handle, pushing the door in.
Before them, in the darkness of the room only slightly illuminated by what cracks of light found their way through the window’s closed curtains, was a lady. Fast asleep, leaning back into the softness of her chair with a plate of half-eaten macarons and a drained ceramic cup set down on the desk in front of her. Her figure shrouded in shadow given the room’s largest window was placed just behind her.
Pallas and Soleiman looked at each other.
“Eh hem,” Pallas coughed slightly. Though evidently not loud enough given the lady remained near motionless.
“Miss,” Soleiman tried. “Mi- Miss!”
The lady opened her eyes. Jolted from her nap, she set her eyes down on the two siblings, whatever vestiges of grogginess vanishing from her face as panic swept in to fill in its place.
“Who- who are you?” she said, jumping to her feet as she pushed her chair aside and began moving to another door just left of her that connected to the adjacent room.
“Miss! Calm down, please, we’re here because Duke Thosmodeus sent us,” Soleiman reasoned, raising his hands up in surrender.
The Mistress stopped in her tracks, her movements less frantic than before.
“Duke Thosmodeus?”
“Yes, Miss,” Pallas affirmed, holding out the Thosmodene family crest.
The Mistress squinted, her figure slouching forward slightly to better see the crest in the darkness. Eventually, she turned back to pull open the curtains just behind her, letting the light of the outside flood in and bringing the room’s details into better view.
“Ah, that you are,” she said, finally able to see the crest in its full glory. “What brings you here?” she continued, genuine intrigue etched on her face. “It’s been an age since I last heard from Theo.”
“Well,” Soleiman said while stepping aside, letting Pallas do the talking.
“I’m a Soteira,” she said.
The curtains fluttered about slightly causing rays of light to bounce across the room, swinging from left to right.
“What?”
Pallas shot a small stream of blood from her palm up into the air, catching it with her other hand and letting it soak into her glove. “See?”
The lady flinched back slightly, eyes affixed upon the stream of red as it flew through the air.
“That… you are,” the Mistress responded, her voice filling with amazement as her eyes widened.
“We need your help to survive,” Soleiman said. “The Hashashiyyin are hot on our tail but… we’re sort of hurt and can’t leave Kardia without any supplies.”
“Supplies… I,” the Mistress struggled, putting a hand to her head. “Sorry, this is all just a little bit much.”
“It’s alright,” Pallas reassured her. “We still have a few minutes before they get here.”
“A few minutes?” the Mistress nearly yelled.
The two siblings nodded slowly in response.
“Goodness me,” she sighed. “Come on then, hurry!”
She opened the door to her left, beckoning the two of them to follow her as she moved into the room next door.
“What do you need, exactly?” the Mistress asked, slipping around the moderately sized bed sat directly in the middle of the room.
“Uh, mainly Edenberries, Miss. Anything else would be really helpful, though.”
“Edenberries? You can find them down in the kitchen, down the very end of the hallway you came in by,” she said, busying herself with picking out a couple of satchels and bags from under the bed.
“Alright, thank you!”
“Ask the lady there if you can’t find it!”
Swiftly, the two siblings slunk back out into the hallway, pushing open the great doors that led into the Estate’s kitchen, leaving the Mistress to do whatever she could to scrape together a pack of supplies for them.
As they entered the kitchen, the overwhelming aroma of freshly baked patisseries hit them, knocking them into a momentary euphoric trance as their noses bathed in the warm deliciousness. The kitchen itself was expansive, several orders of magnitude larger than the Mistress' Office, with a ceiling that seemed to stretch all the way to the massive glass ceiling. The dark planks that made up the floor were now arranged in an interesting geometric pattern, with longer and darker pieces being placed about smaller hexagons made from a lighter shade of wood.
The kitchen itself seemed to have been built within a hexagonal room too, with two open exits on the walls opposite the doorway to the corridor, forming a nice triangular pattern between the three of them. The walls immediately adjacent to where the siblings were had been lined with shelves and cabinets and all sorts of racks, filled with baking supplies, goods in the process of cooling and even a few decorative pieces rather curiously sculpted from sugar. Directly across from them was where the oven had been placed, the entrancing scent wafting from its gaping fiery maw and filling the room with pure bliss.
And in the middle of the room was a large table filled with all sorts of baking equipment, flour-covered pots, cutting boards and the occasional splatter of milk and egg wash. But they couldn’t see the lady the Mistress had mentioned.
“You check that side and I’ll do this one,” Pallas said, with Soleiman nodding back in acknowledgement as the two of them scurried to begin rummaging through the kitchen, pulling open empty cabinets and going through entire shelves’ worths of items at a time.
But they couldn’t find the Edenberries.
More cabinets were swung open, the drawers pulled open so fast they nearly popped out onto the floor. They even rummaged through the few chests of materials and rouge sacks left lying around, finding nothing but flour, sugar and salt.
Pallas looked up and her confused gaze met Soleiman’s. They both shook their heads at each other, a silent confirmation that neither of them were able to find the berries.
“Uhm, Miss?” Soleiman called out, his voice bouncing across the kitchen and out into the hallway as he continued pilfering through the kitchen’s stores. “We can’t find the Edenberries!”
Within seconds, the Mistress appeared in the kitchen doorway, a small sack of goodies in tow.
“You can’t find them?”
“No!”
She briefly looked around the room, stunned slightly at the absence of her baker.
“Try the chests under the table there,” she said. “If they’re not in the stores, they should be-”
“I can’t open them!” they heard, distant and quiet.
The three of them paused as the gardener’s voice called out from the outside, the panic in her tone unmissable.
Listening closer, they could hear as the gate creaked weakly, the hinges firmly held shut by the clot of blood Pallas had clandestinely planted while Soleiman distracted the gardener.
“They’re here,” Pallas said, frozen while her hands were still buried within the compartments of the cabinets.
Hurriedly, the Mistress tossed the small bag to them.
“In the chest, Edenberries. There’s a village nearby, down the road from the northeast exit called Mesimeos. Follow the forest’s edge and you’ll turn onto it in no time,” she said, turning halfway in preparation to close the kitchen doors behind her. “Go down that doorway there,” she said, gesturing to the doorway that led back out to the Estate’s gardens as she gasped between breaths. “Head to the stables, grab the golden pony, and go!”
“Golden pony? Mesimeos? What-”
Then came the knocks.
“Only the golden one!” the Mistress whispered as loudly as she could, closing the doors to the kitchen as she finally turned to deal with the Hashashiyyin.
The Mistress patted her hair down with her hands, redoing her bun as she approached the estate’s main doors.
“Miss. Miss!” She heard as the Hashashiyyin called out to her, impatiently knocking again on the door.
“Yes! Coming!” she replied, speeding up to a trot as she eventually gave up on tying her hair back into place.
When she arrived at the recess in the floor, she steadied her breathing as she reached out to grab its handle.
Absent-mindedly, her feet pushed against the two pairs of dirtied boots left in the recess, so she could better grab a hold of the handle to pull the heavy doors open with.
Hold on.
Those weren’t hers.
Her eyes widening, the blood faded from her face as she looked down in abject horror at the dirtied, mud-covered boots- quite possibly the most revealing piece of evidence the Hashashiyyin could’ve ever asked for.
“Miss?”
Frozen in fear, the Mistress gave no reply, instead letting go of the handle as she stepped back in a feverish panic.
“Miss, we’re coming in,” the voice from beyond the door called out, a single ray of light peeking in from the outside as the door creaked open.
“No!”
The door stopped.
“I-I’m still changing, so please! Just another minute!” she managed, quietly picking up the boots.
“It’s alright, Miss! This isn’t an official visit, you don’t have to worry about the dress code!”
As she did so, the muddy residue dripped off of the boots’ soles, threatening to draw out a line of dirt across the wooden floor.
“No! I-I insist! I’m already half-naked, anyway!”
The door abruptly closed itself.
“Alright then!”
Back in the kitchen, Pallas eventually stumbled upon the chest of Edenberries. Clicking it open, she yanked it out from under the central table, flinging its cover open to reveal the slightly dulled light of the Edenberries stored within.
“Soleiman! I’ve found it!”
Soleiman rushed around the table, kicking any chests they’d pulled out back into place as he did so. “Great! We gotta go then!”
“Do we have anything to carry this with?”
Soleiman pulled open the sack the Mistress had provided them with, though it seemed packed full enough.
“Uhm…” he said, eyes jumping about the room as he searched for something to store the Edenberries with. “The sacks!”
“They’re full!”
“Oh crap, yeah,” he replied, the panic now slowly creeping up on him. They couldn’t carry the whole chest with them, could they?
“What about this?” Pallas suggested, pulling a flour-dusted mixing bowl from the table.
Soleiman opened his mouth, a singular noise leaving his throat before he abruptly stopped himself.
“...Sure?”
“We can’t just empty the sacks out, now can we?” she said, scooping the berries en masse and dumping them into the bowl.
“I mean,” Soleiman replied, picking out a sack at random. Peering in, he confirmed its contents to be entirely flour. It would certainly be better than a bowl, considering they’d be on horseback.
“Soleiman?”
Hastily, he began pouring the powder out, filling the other mixing bowls and whatever other containers were left on the table with flour. Spilling much of it out onto the table and the floor in the process.
“Seriously?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he assured her, though it almost seemed as though he was trying to reassure himself. “Here, dump 'em in!”
Pallas, looked in shock at him for a moment, finally surrendering to his will and rolling her eyes as she shoved the entire mixing bowl chocked full of Edenberries into the sack.
“Wait, no, not the-”
But she had already pooled more berries into the sack, burying the metal deep within its golden depths.
“Alright, c’mon, we gotta go!” Pallas said as she forced in the last berries, tying the sack shut as she cradled it under her arm. Jumping to her feet, she and Soleiman raced towards the exit to the back garden the Mistress had pointed out earlier, stopping only when the wet dewdrops of the grass hit their toes.
Just as they turned to look at each other in realisation, the doors behind them swung open, the Mistress rushing in with their boots in tow.
“You two! Here!” she said, dropping the hems of her now terribly muddied and letting the boots drop onto the grass.
“Thank you Miss!” Soleiman said, grabbing her hand with both of his as he shook it fervently.
“No worries, but you better survive out there!” she said, pulling away from the handshake as she began backing away to return to the hallway outside. “I didn’t just ruin my favourite pyjamas for nothing!”
“Understood!”
“And remember! Take only the golden pony!” her voice fading as she closed the doors behind her. “Good luck!”
The Mistress now stood out in the hallway again, her skirt nothing short of an absolute mess.
“Miss! Sorry, but we’re coming in!”
Seeing as the rays of the outside began forcing their way into the hallway, the Mistress hastily slipped into the room adjacent to her office, closing the door behind her as she hurriedly stripped off her outer dress layer.
Hearing as the door creaked open, some of the outside light now seeping through the crack under the door, she crumpled the dress up, wincing as she felt the wet sogginess of the mud spread through the fabric. She threw the dress under the bed, letting it slide across the wood as she hurriedly stood back up to rush into her office.
“She said she’d be in the office, right?” she could hear as the Hashashiyyin entered the hallway.
“Yeah.”
“Wait- take your shoes off first.”
She quietly closed the doors to the bedroom behind her, running her hands through her hair to force any rogue strands back into obedience.
“I’m not taking my shoes off for just five minutes, Malik!”
“C’mon man, work with me here!”
She sat herself down on her chair, smoothing out any creases in her white undergown as she straightened her spine out.
“Fine, fine.”
The Mistress shifted the plates and cups about her desk, spinning them in place and lining them up such that their patterns aligned with one another.
She took in a deep breath, holding it and feeling the air in her lungs before letting out a deep exhalation.
And then came the knocks.
“Miss! Are you ready, Miss?”
“Come in!”
The door swung open, and in the doorway stood the two Hashashiyyin.
“Happy to see you again, Miss,” one of the men said, bowing slightly, his metal-framed glasses glistening in the light.
“And I, you,” she responded, smiling in turn. “Could I help you with anything?”
“Right,” he said, walking forward as his comrade closed the door behind them. “We’ve gotten reports from the Gravitas that a fugitive’s taken refuge in Kardia.”
“Mhm.”
“And that they’ve come to your Estate in search of help.”
The Mistress feigned surprise, leaning back slightly as her eyes widened and as she tilted her head slightly in disbelief.
“Can you confirm or deny this?”
“We haven’t received anybody, Sir,” she responded. “Much less any fugitives.”
“Nobody? Not even a Chitite?”
“A Chitite?”
The Hashashin huffed in satisfaction.
“Alright then. Apparently the Gravitas are claiming one of the runaways is Soteira,” he continued, his voice slightly falling to a whisper.
“Seriously?” she responded, her tone rising higher.
“I know right? I didn’t believe it for a second!”
The two of them chuckled slightly, much to the ire of the other Hashashin stood by the door, leaning against the wall as he wistfully admired the well-kept garden outside.
“Anyway, we’re going to have to do a quick search of the Estate, if you’re okay with that?”
The Mistress paused for a brief moment, her eyes lost in his.
“O-of course!”
“Right. C’mon Abbas- ooh, are those macarons?”
“Hm?” The Mistress hummed, a little shocked by the sudden change in interest. “Oh, yes! I baked them myself earlier this morning,”
“Can I try some of them?” he asked excitedly, his hand already halfway to the plate.
“Feel free!”
The Hashashin popped the petite pastry in his mouth, biting slowly down on its crumbly wonderfulness as its citrussy cream sent waves of sweet electricity through his tongue.
“Oh, this is so good!” he managed, mouth now full of sugary goodness.
In the back, his comrade rolled his eyes.
“I’ll get started on the search,” he said, his voice about as dead as the look of absolute disinterest on his face.
“Abbas, brother, you gotta try some of these.”
The Hashashin looked at Abbas, beckoning him with an earnest smile, his silly four-eyed face the man could never take seriously.
Sighing, Abbas relented.
“Alright. I’ll have one.”
Having stuck their boots on, Pallas and Soleiman rushed out into the back garden, careful not to trample on any of the winding rows of multicoloured flowers huddled close to the mansion.
As they made their way out of the tapestry of flowers, they realised as the Estate’s back garden connected directly to the wall that encircled the city, a giant gaping hole punching straight through it to allow the Mistress free travel into and out of the city.
And just outside the gate that led beyond the city’s bounds there was a lady donned in a dusty white apron that sat on a stool, her back resting against the cold stone of the walls.
As their boots crunched against a few leaves left lying about on the ground from the trees that stood at the garden’s perimeter, the lady stirred from her trance, turning to look in shock at the two fully-clad armoured figures approaching her.
“Madame!” Soleiman called out.
“What do you want?” the lady responded, the irritation in her voice like smouldering embers that drifted through the breeze.
“Could you help us get the golden pony out, please?”
“What?” she screamed, almost dumbfounded. She rose from her stool, picking it up as she headed back through the gate and towards the two siblings. “You want the Mistress’ golden pony?”
Pallas flashed the Thosmodene crest.
“Yes please.”
Stunned for a moment, she eventually relented. Beckoning them to follow, she led them to a small stable built against the stone wall.
“So, the Mistress gave her to you?”
Soleiman and Pallas nodded, watching as the lady pulled open the door to the stable.
“Fair enough. There’s hardly enough space for her in here, anyway,” she said, apparently in no mood to even put up so much as a slight resistance.
Just as the door was opened wide enough, a large stallion made a move to rush past the lady and out into the back garden, though she was able to soothe the animal in time to stop it from leaving.
Ushering the stallion back into the stable, she called the siblings in.
“Come and take her yourself! The saddles are just outside, by the corner.”
Pallas and Soleiman squeezed their way into the stable, the musky, warm air evidence enough that the stable was not built for the three horses currently staying within. As their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, they soon were able to pick out the singular golden ‘pony’ the Mistress had bequeathed to them.
“Hello,” Pallas said endearingly, moving herself closer so that she could caress the horse's head.
“She… doesn’t look like a pony,” Soleiman remarked, kneeling down to join his sister in petting the mare.
“Well,” the lady replied, placating the unruly stallion back into lying down. “We use the term ‘pony’ to refer to unregistered horses in general,” she explained. “And since she’s fresh off the market, we haven’t had the time yet to get her on the Hashashiyyin’s registry.”
“I see,” Soleiman replied.
“Alright, hurry along now,” the lady said, helping the two siblings get the golden mare up to her feet. “She’s quite obedient, this one. Just make sure she gets fed, else she’ll throw a hissy fit that’ll make you wish you didn’t spend a small fortune on her.”
As they got the radiant creature out into the glory of the skylight, it became all the more clear how brilliant her golden fur was.
“Here,” the lady said, throwing them the double saddle.
“I’m quite surprised the Mistress just let us have her,” Soleiman said to Pallas as he fixed the saddle upon their steed’s back.
“Yeah. The crest must be real important.”
“But of course,” the lady interjected. “We’ve only gotten three visitors, including you, who bore the Thosmodene crest ever since the partition.”
The two siblings got atop their horse, with Soleiman taking the reins as Pallas strapped both bags they’d gotten from the Mistress onto her back.
“Are you sure you remember how to ride horses?” Pallas asked anxiously, looking over Soleiman’s shoulder to see him struggle slightly to get his feet into the stirrups while the lady helped them fasten the saddle’s girth about the horse’s torso.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine.”
“Alright. That should be it,” the lady said, petting the horse.
“Thank you, Madame. We really mean it.”
“No worries. I serve the Mistress, and so I serve you.”
Holding the reins in his hands, Soleiman gave the mare a quick rub down the neck.
“Oh, does she have a name, by the way?”
The lady paused for a while.
“Not officially, but, I like to call her ‘Strapi’.”
“Strapi it is, then,” Soleiman said, finally getting into position for the departure.
“Oh, Madame, one more thing,” Pallas cut in, just before Soleiman could start Strapi on a trot. “Don’t tell anyone that we were here.”
“I just about figured.”
The siblings then exchanged smiles with the lady, Soleiman leading the mare towards the gate.
“Alright, Strapi. Let’s go!” He said, spurring the mare on and sending her barreling forth into the emerald grass-covered clearing ahead.
And as the lady watched as the two siblings took off on the golden specimen of a horse, she went back to her seat, returning to her peace, at least for a little while.